


Put Out the Sun

by Geyblade



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: A look inside Spock's head, Also: twist ending!, Canon Temporary Character Death, M/M, The Jim's death analysis no one asked for, whoops my hand slipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geyblade/pseuds/Geyblade
Summary: The Enterprise - and Earth - are saved from the starship's imminent crash landing. It seems as if a miracle has halted their descent, but Commander Spock believes in no such things as miracles.And as he will soon find out, the success is by the work of no miracle.





	Put Out the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based off of one line I wrote in this and literally nothing else.

    Spock was still recovering from the miraculous restoration of the Enterprise’s stabilizer function, his stomach still not quite settled from their steep descent toward Earth’s surface. Even for his eidetic memory, he barely remembered the last few moments before the Enterprise had risen above Earth’s cloud layer, the adrenaline and anticipation slightly clouding his mind.

    “Mister Spock!” Came the sound of Lieutenant Commander Scott’s accented voice from the Captain’s communicator.

    “Mister Scott,” Spock acknowledged, wondering slightly about the panicked rush to Scott’s voice. Was the Enterprise in immediate danger? Was the stabilizer fix somehow temporary?

    Scott said none of those things. Instead, his voice, teeming with the same panic, said, “Sir, you better get down here. Better hurry.”

    Spock was opening his mouth to ask _why_ he should leave the bridge so soon after a disaster of this proportion, when Scott's next words, uttered as little more than a broken whisper, completely halted his query.

    “Spock, it's the Captain.”

* * *

 

    When Spock arrives in the engineering quadrant where Mr. Scott’s comm had originated from, he looks around for the Captain. When he sees no sign of the man anywhere, he looks to Scott for clarification, and the Lieutenant Commander says nothing, only looks down the small corridor that gives access to the chamber that holds the warp core. Spock understands and rushes the short way down the passage.

    He peers through the radiation-proof transparent aluminium of the door, and feels his world fall out from under him. “Open it,” he demands, his voice sounding small even to his own ears.

    “The decontamination process is not complete.” Spock knows. “You'd flood the whole compartment.” He knows. “The door's locked, sir.” Spock _knows_ , he knows that there was no logical way to be able to retrieve the Captain from the chamber. Yet he finds himself with a most illogical and extremely strong urge to walk over, override the computer, and open it anyway. He does not.

    Instead, he kneels, as Kirk falls back against the inside doorway of the bulkhead. The Captain’s breathing is labored and rattling, his lungs damaged. His skin is red and blotchy, burned by the radiation. His eyes are bloodshot and slightly yellowed, unfocused as he swings his hand up to close the core’s access bulkhead, but still a striking blue as they find Spock’s face. Spock’s hand, unbidden, goes to reach for Kirk through the aluminum, but Spock stops it in what probably seems to be an unsightly flail. He does not notice.

    “H...How’s our ship?” Kirk’s words are strained, labored. Spock is at a loss. Even dying, this man’s first priority is his ship and its crew. Spock admires the captain’s seemingly endless selflessness. When Spock himself had faced death, he had purged his mind of feeling or thinking of anything or anyone.

    “Out of danger,” Spock says, quickly, despite the turmoil raging in his mind, “You saved the crew.” Spock knows his voice is trembling and choked, but he finds this the least of his present concerns.

    “You used what he wanted against him,” the Captain says, the corners of his mouth turned slightly up in a strained smile, “That’s a nice move.”

    Spock does not understand how his captain could commend him for his fleeting strategy, when he himself has made the ultimate sacrifice, has given his life to save a starship full of people. Spock feels himself reeling, but bids himself to answer anyway, “It is what you would have done.” As he says it, he feels somehow that the statement is lacking, that it doesn't capture all Spock wishes to say.

    Kirk only pulls the corners of his mouth up in that painful smile again, his breaths wheezing and rattling their way from his chest even more violently now. “And this…” he begins, and Spock knows that he means his own manual righting of the misaligned core, “This is what you would have done,” his breaths are even harsher now, his words rushing between wheezes, “It was only logical.”

    Spock feels his control slipping further, throwing the mess inside his mind into full disarray. _Is this what he would have done?_ Spock knows he had risked his own well being for a planet’s population, but at the time he was under the impression that he would be promptly extracted from the volcano. Could he really bring himself to do something which he knew he would not survive? Did Jim Kirk really think so highly of him? Does he deserve it, this faith the captain has in him?

    Spock is pulled from his own head, from the frothing rapids of his thoughts by Kirk’s broken voice, “I’m scared, Spock,” he says, his eyes boring straight into Spock’s. And Spock can see it, can see the pain and fear shining in the captain’s blue eyes. He feels the same within himself, pain and fear, so cold in his chest that it _burns._

    He is going to lose his captain, is going to watch him die right here in front of him, and every fiber in Spock’s being is telling him that this is wrong, that James Kirk should not be dying. Spock is terrified, and helpless, and he doesn't understand, he doesn't remember ever feeling this way in his life. His mind is racing, screaming that he cannot lose Jim so soon, when Spock has only seen the barest hint of this man, who shines like the sun. Spock can feel unbidden tears painting hot trails down his cheeks.

    “Help me not to be,” Jim continues through rattling, panting breath, “How do you choose not to feel?” Jim looks so broken, somehow frightened and resigned all at once.

    “I do not know,” Spock says, the taste of his own tears salty in his mouth as his voice trembles and breaks, “Right now I am failing.” His mind is a mess, a roiling storm of emotion - _fear, anger, sadness, guilt_ \- and he can't stop the tears that continue to slide down his face as he watches the captain fade.

    Jim’s labored breathing sounds even more painful than before, but still he continues to whisper hoarsely to Spock, “I need you to know… Why I couldn't let you die,” he says, his eyes once again finding Spock’s, “Why I came back for you.”

    Suddenly, Spock knows. In the depths of his _katra_ he knows, and he wonders bitterly why it took him so long to see, “Because you complete me,” he whispers, his voice strained and choked.

    Jim does not respond, only lifts a trembling hand to press against the cool transparent aluminum, his little and ring fingers curled weakly and smashed against the door. Spock does not bother to wonder where Jim has learned this gesture, but simply extends his fore and middle fingers to mirror Jim’s, and presses them over their counterparts on the other side of the barrier.

    Jim’s breathing is slowing, and panic and resignation curl into an ugly beast inside Spock’s chest as his eyes dull. And as James Kirk exhales his final breath, Spock feels the last of his control _snap._


End file.
